All That We See Or Seem
by Maestus
Summary: In his own twisted way, Sherlock had known all along. He had noticed all the signs but had refused to act on them because how could what they suggested be true? You see, Jim Moriarty was an invention. Only, he wasn't Sherlock's; he was John's.


**Okay, so this oneshot has been a while in the works but I've at long last finished. ^-^ Based off this prompt here -**

Richard Brook was real ...

But Jim Moriarty wasn't Sherlock's invention.

He was John's.

We all saw Sherlock's brain pull a 'DOES NOT COMPUTE' when John stepped out to the pool in TGG, because, seriously, John as the bomber? How the heck did the world's greatest consulting detective miss THAT?

Life for Sherlock made sense again, when the Semtex was reveled and Jim stepped out. He dismissed his momentary deduction, that John = Outrageously Competent Evil Mastermind.

He shouldn't have.

He was right.

**Hope you all enjoy and apologies for any OCCness.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them, much as I wish I did.**

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When John first steps out clad in Semtex, the first conclusion that Sherlock's brain jumps to (and, oddly enough, he feels guilty at this afterwards, even if it is his job to consider every possibility) is that, somehow, John is the criminal. It is John who has been playing this twisted game of cat and mouse with him, John who has murdered and blackmailed his way to the top of the seemingly vast criminal empire, John who has fooled them all. For several drawn out seconds, Sherlock's world implodes at the thought that he has been so thoroughly deceived by a person he trusts and might even consider a friend so that all he can do is stare and hope that this is all just some messed up trick. And then Jim Moriarty appears to confirm that belief and everything is right with the world again. John is still John and there is only Moriarty, grinning smugly at the top of his web.

When the self-proclaimed consulting criminal leaves and the pair are alone once again, Sherlock convinces himself that he imagined the small smirk John wore upon seeing the detective's relief at seeing Moriarty. It must be this shock thing that everyone harks on about making him see things he decides.

He chooses to ignore the small part of his mind that tells him he is Sherlock Holmes and he doesn't go into shock.

~~~linebreak~~~

The second time Sherlock's mind expresses doubt about John is during the incident with Irene Adler. The Woman is before him, oh so smug at having one upped him, and Sherlock is finding himself out of his depth for the first time in his life because there is absolutely nothing he can deduce other than what he already knows but then John walks in and his reaction is…puzzling. Yes, he reacts the way he is expected to upon finding someone naked but it's… different somehow, more like walked-in-on-naked-family-member embarrassment than walked-in-on-naked-stranger embarrassment. He compares it against his internal database of John's expressions, runs over it again and again, and yet still it comes back the same. For just a moment, Sherlock feels the beginning of self-doubt, positive his abilities are failing him (because how else could he not only fail to learn anything new from the delightful Miss Adler and her rather unconventional methods but confuse John's facial expressions as well? It's unheard of) but them that moment passes and there is no sign that John Watson and Irene Adler have ever known each other

This is followed by a full out dismissal of the notion that Irene had just winked at John to which the doctor's response had been to roll his eyes in exasperation. Imagination, a sing song voice in his head tells him.

It's as simple as that.

~~~linebreak~~~

Not long after the incident with Irene Adler, when Sherlock is between cases and approaching one of his infamous black moods, Mycroft has him dragged into a car and dropped off at the Diogenes club, no explanations provided. This in itself is odd; normally his brother takes the much less direct approach of quizzing, or kidnapping, Sherlock's acquaintances simply to find out what he's doing when he's not in view of a camera, though he strongly suspects by this point that there are cameras somewhere within the flat. But the fact that Mycroft looks mildly concerned is enough to pique his interest. The elder Holmes has never been one to openly display emotion, preferring to mask it behind slick words and knowing smiles. Mycroft carefully folds his paper whilst Sherlock stands there like a sullen child, hands thrust deep into his pockets and a heavy scowl in place. Not that this bothers the politician of course; by now, he is well used to Sherlock's antics, though even so, he approaches things carefully like a diver testing the waters.

"Have you been seeing much of John lately?" he finally asks and Sherlock lets out a brief huff of annoyance.

"Of course." he snaps irritably. "I do live with him after all; I'd have thought you could remember that by now."

Mycroft merely sighs, the tolerant parent dealing with the troublesome toddler, and instead approaches the matter in a different manner. "I understand Dr Watson has been on a lot of dates lately."

There is only the slightest hint of jealousy in Sherlock's tone when he answers. "Yes. Not that it's any of your business. Now are you finished or are you going to try and drag me to _another _dinner party?" He turns on his heel, not even intending to wait for a reply, but the next sentence Mycroft utters stops his in his tracks.

"Did you know John Watson is is regular contact with James Moriarty?"

Suddenly the detective's world is imploding again and his mind is screaming _impossible _as John would _never _go behind his back in such a manner, would never be so treacherous. He says as much. "You could at least get your facts right." he declares coldly and Mycroft's expression is of sadness as he recites a list of dates, all ones that Sherlock recalls as being the nights of John's dates.

"Watson met with Moriarty on every one of those nights. We have evidence on tape along with eyewitness accounts."

"Those can be faked; people can be bribed. Moriarty is a psychopathic genius after all. Besides, John's..._date_ came to pick him up _and _dropped his off each time so I'd like to see you explain that one."

"Ah yes, his 'date'. A man going by the name of Drew Peterson, more commonly known as Sebastian Moran, one of the world's most infamous snipers. Are you going to open your eyes and actually see what is going on or are you just going to continue to bury your head in the sand?" Now Mycroft looks rather pained, almost pleading with his brother but the taller man will not hear it.

"I'm not burying my head in the sand," Sherlock grinds out angrily, ", because there is _nothing _going on! You can never leave me alone, can you Mycroft? No, you've got come and interfere like you always do!"

With that, he turns on his heel and stomps out, not missing his brother's rather bitter retort.

"Yes, run away Sherlock! Just like you always do with the sole intention of wrecking your life so you can laugh in my face."

Maybe, the consulting detective thinks angrily, he wouldn't do so if Mycroft let him be.

~~~linebreak~~~

Afterwards, when Sherlock is sulking in a taxi on his way back to Baker Street, Mycroft pulls out his phone, calmly dialling whilst he flicks through his newspaper again, not really paying attention to the articles. It is answered on the first ring.

"Yes, I told him...He reacted exactly the way we expected, surprise surprise...Yes, he's still convinced you're a saint; you could probably assassinate the Queen and he would still swear you were innocent...Now all we need to do is wait, I suppose. He'll realise the truth soon enough."

The politician sighs as he ends the call and wonders whether it was really worth it, whether he was right to give in to their blackmail.

~~~linebreak~~~

This is it; this is the end. As soon as he steps up those stairs, he is condemning himself to a life as a nobody, to being known only as the fraud who fooled the world then leapt off a building because he couldn't cope with being exposed. But it'll all be worth it to keep John alive. It'll all be worth it even if Moriarty walks free under the alias Richard Brook, even if...

No. He's now on the roof and his brain is refusing to compute what is before him, declaring it to be impossible, a system error. Perhaps Moriarty has slipped him some form of hallucinogen; there is no way he can truly be seeing _this_

"Hello Sherlock." John Watson grins, looking genuinely happy to see him in that manner that only the ex army doctor could manage. He is sitting on the edge of the roof with Moriarty by his side, that disgustingly irritating Bee Gees song trilling through the air. "You and Richard already know each other of course; you have to admit he's a brilliant actor. Really had you convinced, eh?" He and Moriarty laugh, the latter of the two stretching out lazily so that he's now leaning against John.

"Oh don't look so surprised, Sherly." the small dark haired man drawls, smirk in place. "Your brother told you what was going on; you were the one who chose not to believe it."

The detective merely gapes, still not comprehending. "What?" he finally forces out, voice choked. "John, this is madness! Stop it, Jim; let him go!"

For some reason this enrages John and his expression darkens, fingers curling round the stonework angrily.

"There you go again!" he spits out in fury. "Ignoring me as usual! Oh, that's just John, the _stupid bumbling _army doctor who wouldn't know a fact if it leapt up and hit him in the face; he's nothing special! All my _life, _I've been trying to get you to notice me and you just walk past as if there's no one there, despite everything I've done."

"John..."

"No, Sherlock; I've heard it all before. I'm not being blackmailed or coerced into doing something against my will; this is my own doing. _I _murdered Carl Powers, _I _organised the bombings; everything you think _he _did," Here, he jerks a finger at Moriarty, ", was me! Still feeling clever, Sherlock? Do you see me yet?"

In the end Sherlock is almost grateful to leap off the roof of St Bart's. It's his escape from this nightmare.

~~~linebreak~~~

Now Sherlock's hiding within Mycroft's flat, though flat hardly covers the size of it, with the 24 hour news playing and a confusion that refuses to leave. On the screen, a reporter is busy conducting an interview with the wrongly accused "Richard Brook"; around Sherlock various newspapers litter the floor, headlines all screaming similar things. "Exclusive interview with fraud detective's hired actor", "Richard Brook tells all" and, most hurtful of all, "Dr. John Watson: Fraud blackmailed me to keep silent".

He sighs and pulls a blanket tighter around his shoulders, shivering slightly as the door opens and Mycroft enters, expression unreadable.

"I hope you're not intending to sulk in here forever; I'd rather not have to call in the decorator again."

Sherlock shrugs, still not taking his attention away from the television.

"Sherlock..."

"How could he do something like that?" the detective bursts out with suddenly, blanket falling to the floor as he leaps to his feet and begins to pace in frustration, tugging at his curls with tense fingers. "How could I be so _blind?_"

"I tried to tell you..." Mycroft begins before realising that this tactic will get him nowhere and instead changing the subject, choosing to leave the matter be for the time being. "There was a message left for you from a Miss Irene Adler, also known as..."

"I don't want to hear it."

"You didn't let me finish. As I way saying, a Miss Irene Adler, also known as Harriet Watson."

Sherlock closes his eyes. _Of course..._"I said, I don't want to hear it."

And it's true; he doesn't want to hear _anything_. He just wants to forget; he just wants to forget it all.

For the first time in years, the youngest Holmes finds himself craving that which he had sworn he had given up for good.

He needs a fix and he needs to fast.

~~~linebreak~~~

Mycroft Holmes purses his lips as he studies the prone, and admitted frail, form of his brother, noticing the way he does nothing more than stare at the opposite wall. Found overdosed in a back alleyway, fortunately by a member of his own homeless network; hardly surprising, if a little disappointing. Coping mechanisms were never Sherlock's strong point.

There is a shift in the air and suddenly the younger man is actually noticing him, staring up in confusion.

"_Mycroft?_ What are you doing here; where's John?"

This is worse than he thought and the politician sighs, absent-mindedly wondering whether the amnesia is drug induced or just memory suppression, something Sherlock, unfortunately, has been prone to in the past.

"What happened; is John okay?" Slim fingers clasp around Mycroft's wrist and he gazes at them morosely, deliberating on what to tell his now mentally unstable brother.

"I'm afraid that Dr. Watson is no longer with us." he finally says slowly, noting the look of shock and disbelief flit across Sherlock's face.

It's better this way, Mycroft decides. Besides, it might as well be the truth.

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**Reviews and con-crit are always welcomed and loved ^-^**


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